


A Comfortable Fit

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Femdom, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pegging, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 22:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: A fill for the disneykinkmeme asking for female domination and pegging for a canon Disney couple





	A Comfortable Fit

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for disneykinkmeme

It fit them.

Aladdin was never anyone’s - to keep or to love. Without a mother or father, without friends, he was a loose and dangling end and he felt his isolation intently. Though many would suspect him feeling restless in his new royal life, the walls of the palace were security to him. They promised a home and a place he could stay in until he died. And Jasmine’s arms were the same; she promised love, love he didn’t have to worry about being gone the next morning.

And if her grip turned tightening, controlling, well – all the better. The closer he was pulled to her and even under her, the more he felt valuable.

By contrast, Jasmine had never owned anything. Sure, she had gold, valuables, exotic pets, treats and treasures from all over the known world, and yet; she didn’t even own herself. She was a beautiful chess piece, maneuvered since the day she was born and stuck inside a gilded cage as soon as her womanly feathers grew in. The men in her life wanted to pet and keep her –

She wanted a pet of her own.

It was hard to pinpoint where it began.

Maybe it was when Jasmine started insisting on being on top during sex – how happy and powerful she looked riding with strong thighs and a straight spine while Aladdin’s eyes grew hazy in worship of her beauty. Maybe it was when she started taking control of kisses, somehow even with her shorter height pouring herself into his mouth and moulding his lips to her own.

Maybe it was when she began using her nails in his back as he moved within her. He’d growl low and arch his back into it and she’d move lower, gripping his ass in passionate claws demanding more pleasure, finally taking all she wanted. The nails then moved to his face in hard, covetous swipes that turned into pinching caresses.

In the daylight, he laughed away questions about the thin, angry red streaks on his face, but inside he was burning with pride.

Maybe it was when she lay atop him, her dripping sex on his lips with his manhood in her mouth. She rocked to the rhythm of her own pleasure, eyes closed. On a whim, her fingertip moved south, hooking down and inside her lover. He stilled as if had been struck, but instead of his thighs slamming shut his legs fell apart with an ecstatic surrender. She let him fall free of her lips and turned back in curiosity, smiling as he saw him looking at her in pleasant surprise.

Then the hitting came. The hitting was more like slaps - controlled efforts of force meeting skin working to turn the skin she loved a little redder and a little warmer as Aladdin grit his teeth and awaited the next blow.

He asked her coyly if she still has her whip from her “Scourge” days, and with a sparkling smile, she pulls it from under the bed.

But what drew them both were the ropes, the manacles and chains.

Aladdin feared them, at least on the streets. To him any slanted pleasure in confinement was drowned out by a sense of death and desolation that came along with captivity. But when Jasmine’s pretty hands gently coaxed his arms back, her hair a scented curtain on his nose and mouth as she clicked the cuffs closed – it was perfection.

She meant it in love. She pressed gentle kisses to his shoulder as she looped a complex tie around his thigh and over to her bedpost, treating his other leg to the same treatment until he was bound open. And when their new relationship followed them out of the bedroom, he did not question the love there either.

Jasmine was hesitant at first in flexing her control outside of sex, but he gave her a reassuring smile and happily-submissive eyes.

It started with him taking on servant roles. He was the new Sultan, yes, but he fetched all of her meals and prepared her baths. His hands learned gentleness in the tending of her waves of thick black hair, tirelessly combing through with his fingers, a brush far too rough for his Sultana’s head. His hands were loving as he kneeled beside her and rubbed her feet. She laid a simple hand on his head, and that was enough.

She was proud of him when they made their biggest display of what their relationship had come to be.

She met with her counselors and advisors, ambassadors from other lands there as well. She laid out her plans as new Sultana, finally putting the grief and memory of her father to peaceful rest. Her throne was complex and colorful, a wrought iron peacock with inlaid jewels and feathers that seem to glimmer and flutter: a present from Genie.

At her feet, her powerful tiger Rajah lounged - a purr in his throat but vigilance in his eyes. Those closest to the Sultana tried to discreetly edge their chairs further away from the giant predator, but he was very much quelled under his mistress.

Her voice was feminine and clear, but it was no longer the voice of a girl. It was the voice of a woman and a Sultana who was robed gracefully in a dress of dark blue and gold trim.

They have been waiting for the new Sultan when he arrives in white, fine Egyptian cotton and well-tailored pants. He made a positive impression. They knew of his background, but also knew of his heroics, and he looked strong and healthy and handsome, and that counted for something. He strode in confidently, but something was unexpected.

The downturn of his shoulders, the way his eyes stayed on the Sultana’s,

And, most obviously, the black band of leather around his neck.

There was an unspoken question on the air as he nodded greetings. Where will the Sultan sit? There is no greater throne beside the Sultana; will she surrender her seat and take a lower one to his side?

Jaws drop and a furious whisper began when the new Sultan, kingly attire and all, dropped down to his knees beside her, right there on the floor next to the tiger. Rajah gave a low purr of recognition, and shifted to allow him more room for Aladdin. Aladdin settled into an easy lounge, leaning his head on Jasmine’s arm rest. Her fingers automatically went to his hair, threading in and out in a soothing, idle manner.

She did not respond to the stares of the horrified, the open mouths of the amazed, and exclamations of the horrified and disgusted. She did not justify any of it. She felt no need to explain herself, and so did not. Rajah misjudged the situation, and started to rise with a feral rumble and that quiets some, but it was the way in which Aladdin’s hand linked in Jasmine’s, it was the way her polished brown eyes did not waver with girlish self-consciousness, and it was the way in which their lack of shame in turn brought shame upon their critics. Maybe they did not have to agree with the way they live their lives, but Agrabah stands on its own worth as a kingdom blessed with magic and endurance, competent leaders and otherworldly guardians.

After everyone left, Jasmine rewarded both of them, licking, suckling, and swallowing Aladdin down while his hand stroked her sex gently, softly. In a whisper he asked if he can cum, and in a whisper and a smile, she answered back ‘yes’.

They explored the boundaries, and Aladdin tried to prove how much he’d do for Jasmine while she tried to guide him there. With a little research, they found ways to do both.

He shuddered a bit when he sees Jasmine glide out of their dressing room, a picture of unapologetic lust with the strange, faux-phallus black and opaque hanging off her hips. But his face heated as her own expression set (it easier to fall into the role, or perhaps – to fall out of the role of princess) and he rolled over as much as he can with his hands bound so that his ass was in the air.

Jasmine laughed a little, not unkindly, and it was the brush of her erect nipples on his back and her slick fingers at his crack that made him shudder all over again as she eased into him, and he fell into her.

In the flexing of control, punishment is usually given.

They were drunk with lust when she bore down upon him.

“I saw you, streetrat.”(In her mouth, the word did not sting or bite. In her mouth it was a reminder of intimacy, of knowing his past and how to deal with it wisely)

He looked up at her from his place on the floor, his mouth in her moist folds. Though the hand in his hair tightened and the soft thighs astride him clenched on his neck, he was unhesitant in his admission.

“I am sorry, my Queen.”

“Yes, yes I suppose you are.” She traced the line of wetness on his lower lip with her finger, feeling outside of herself as she lets a smile spread on her face. “And don’t you think you should be punished?”

Aladdin’s eyes closed for a moment, before gazing up with a tense body and open heart.

“Yes, my Queen.”

She did not want to hurt him. No, she wanted to give him what she knew he really wanted, even if fear was a barrier. She was there to take away that fear. This was her role and her pleasure.

But never, never did she think it would feel this good.

Inside him. He was inside her Aladdin.

Behind the modesty curtain, Jasmine’s fingers worked furiously inside herself, hand roaming in a wanton motion of pleasure up over her erect nipples and down over her quivering belly to palm her damp thighs. The sounds were almost enough, almost enough – the fleshy slaps, the wet, guttural noises of repeated entry into a human embrace, the rough, snarling pants of one man against the keening, gasping cries of the other – she heard it and she let it wash over her.

And she knew. She knew what was happening behind that curtain.

She had arranged it.

If she still had retained any modesty of youth, it would have been a hindrance to approach her Captain of the Guard Rasoul with such a proposal. But no - she was a towering, unflinching woman when she had carefully manipulated him with her sultry words:

“I know you want him. I’ve seen it in your eyes, Rasoul.”

He had sputtered, of course, violently red in the face. But that had told her all she needed to know. If he was of another sexual persuasion, he would have looked disgusted, not nervous and surprised. She could almost smelt the male need coming off of him as she plied him further.

“Don’t deny it. That is why you pursued him all those years, and that is the reason behind your special interest.”

He had looked absolutely miserable in undeniable discovery of his scandalous desires, and she had taken pity, giving her fishing line a sharp tug.

“You can fuck him, you know.”

Rasoul had looked aghast at her common words and tone; “Your Highness!”

She had held up one hand in silent command.

“You want to Rasoul. And now you can. Just once. You have my permission.”

He was still mumbling empty protests and negations, but they were falling as his hands had begun to sweat and his teeth had begun to clench.

She had left him flopping on the shore.

“You Queen desires it,” she had said with all the beauty and charm she possessed.

And that did it, really. Just a flexing of her power.

And for all his protests, Rasoul fucked Aladdin with both greed and abandon. A heave of hips, and Aladdin was sent an inch higher on the wall he was pressed against. He grasped with startled fingers and a hiccup of breath, that same breath ripped from him as Rasoul pulled out leaving Aladdin’s body clenching and empty, only to fill it with another slam into his twisting form.

The sounds were not enough to sate her; she had to watch. Reaching the curtain almost fully back to expose a queenly breast heaving with passion, she took in the sight like drinking spiced wine.

Of course Aladdin’s eyes noticed her; they had an even stronger connection now that sexual modesty was not a barrier. His eyes were darker than usual, clouded by senseless pleasure, but in there under darkest brown and unshed tears, she found loving submission.

Her thumb flicked her clit and her eyes rolled back. Almost, almost…

Though Aladdin was always aware of his lover’s presence, Rasoul seemed to have forgotten her entirely in his simple, single-minded pursuit of pleasure. No, he would not dare say the things he snarled in Aladdin’s ear if he knew Jasmine was right there within arm’s reach.

“That’s it; take it you mouthy little shit.”

He laughed breathlessly when Aladdin’s only response was to reach for his own cock.

“Look at you,” he grunted, now with a concentrated effort to get the words out and still plunge as deep as his cock needed, “Streetrat-turned-prince-turned-Sultan.” He laughed, flicking dismissively the cool leather collar around Aladdin’s throat, the slight touch turning into a dangerous hold around Aladdin’s neck as his passion took him higher and farther from restraint. “And underneath it all, you’re really just a needy little cunt.”

Wild-eyed, Aladdin turned, teeth burying into his own arm.

Jasmine rose to her full height, hastily drawing her gauzy robe around her. Rasoul jumped like a disobedient dog when Jasmine flung the curtain back to make her presence known with a sharp “Enough!” And like a dog, his dick stayed lodged in a warm place while common sense flooded back.

With her small, manicured hand, she herself shoved him and he, in a flurry of graceless mortification, pulled himself out of Aladdin roughly before letting the boy drop to the ground. An imperious gesture sent him unquestioningly fleeing the room, baffled and dizzy and unsatisfied.

Let him finish himself.

She turned her attention to Aladdin, he a panting and dazed heap on the floor. Poor cock, red and unattended, jutted up from sprawled hips. Jasmine felt the part of benign goddess as she dropped her robe to the floor and straddled her husband and lover.

She knew that there were remnants of doubt within Aladdin. She could soothe and comfort him, righteously battle away all of Rasoul’s unkindness. But she also knew that inside her, he’d feel redeemed. She knew that within and around her body was all the reassurance he needed.

He gasped into the plushness of her breast as she speared herself atop him. She sunk down into his reliable heat and he into the human embrace of her molten center.

He panted a thousand praises and confessions of love into her sweat-slicked flesh as she rode him expertly and she pulled up his chin so that all those beautiful words could be swallowed by her lips and mouth. 

It felt beautiful; it felt controlled. He was not the man other men would be now, stabbing her with their cocks, pulling in and out like torturing a wound. He was not hovering over her face with eyes closed and mouth unattractively ajar in selfish loss to conquering the feminine vessel beneath him.

She was above him. And from above him, she coaxed him in and out of herself in an internal massage. She built the tempo of their pleasure and he followed gladly. And when he felt the need to cum, he pressed his lips to her bejeweled hand in a wordless request.

With a whisper of love into his ear – she let him cum, deep and wonderful inside of her.

 

This, this fit them.


End file.
